My mother says I was dancing, dancing, dancing Inside her before I was even born. She could feel my legs kicking Bump-bump, bump-bump And she says that when I was born I came out twirling As I would turn and glide As if I’d dance Right out of her life.
She says it made her giggle, But it scared her, too. She’d only just met me And she wanted to see me Grow up to be a dancer. She says I’ve been dancing, dancing, dancing, Ever since.
My teacher told us today
Smooth marley beneath me
To make a list of things we fear.
Lights above,
I didn’t want to.
Chairs in front.
I don’t like being scared.
My second home,
Until she told us
The dance studio.
That later we would make
I love laughter,
Lists of things we love.
Laughing is good for my soul
Things I Fear:
It makes honey light
I am afraid of guns
In my heart.
And of the people who use them.
I love a lot of things,
I am afraid that
Some things are invisible
The innocent will suffer
And some you can touch.
And the guilty will not.
Others still are too private
I’m afraid that the victims will die To share. And there won’t be the heaven
We all pray to. I’m scared that there won’t be A heaven to ascend to There is a God, somewhere, But is this heaven really What we think it is?
What I love: I love dancing,
Sometimes
Doing out in shorts
We dance in socks
With no jackets?
Mostly shorts and t-shirts. Mostly, We dance in shoes. I like to wear socks To be able to slide Over smooth floor. When it’s sunny, Or even when it pours,
We are always hot And we stand on the sidewalk, In our socks, On Main Street, In frigid February weather. It feels like seventy-degree day
Barely windy, Snow? What snow? The people driving in their cars Down one of the biggest streets In our small town Look at us Probably thinking, What are those crazy teenagers
I am in Studio A,
My turns don’t look like turns
The biggest one,
In her eyes, and mine
Prepping for an eleventh try
I don’t know how I’ll do it,
At my turns.
On stage, will it be a turn
My teacher perches
In the eyes of the judges?
on the bench behind,
I have only two
And I am in the middle
And a half minutes
In front of her
To show them what I’m worth.
She studies me from top to bottom. She is eyeing my knees – Are they straight? And my arms and feet. Don’t hop and slide! She says. And spot sharp.
After my fifteenth dizzying turn
There!
My teacher reaches out
She says.
Towards me,
You have to keep your arms UP
As if she wants to grab my hand. And support them. I know now!
And then there!
She cries proudly.
My next turn
I know! Come here.
Hits three. Again and again.
Her mouth is wide,
I jump for joy.
Like a donut,
I can do a triple, easy.
And her eyes are gleeful.
I prep again and go
Come here, Claire.
And again I hit a nearly perfect
She repeats.
Triple turn.
And so I come and stand
All rehearsal I think about is
In front of her.
My turns
She takes my hands,
Growing in number
And makes another donut
Increasing,
With my arms.
Thanks to my arms.
When our teacher bans
Radiant
A series of words:
Blissful
Like,
Content
Very,
Delighted
Pretty,
Ecstatic
Stuff,
Elated
Big
Exultant
She has us come up with
Gleeful
Different words, with
Gay
The same meanings.
Jolly
She calls them “synonyms”
Joyful
Which sounds like
Jubilant
Cinnamons
Lively
And she has us look up
Merry
Cinnamons in the
Mirthful
Thesaurus.
Upbeat
I chose “sunny”
There were so many
Meaning summery, and joyful,
Cinnamons for sunny
Because I always feel this way
I hardly could write them all.
When I’m dancing.
In fact, I couldn’t capture
Brilliant
All the ones I liked
Clarion
In my little vault of words
Cloudless
I have locked away selfishly
Luminous
To use in the books I’ll write
Pleasant
When I am older.
For a while I was quite
Pensive
Ecstatic
Pessimistic
Because I had found so many
Somber
Cinnamons for happy.
Woebegone
But before long I realized
Grieving
There are other words
Weeping
For emotion.
Downcast
They do not all mean happy.
Heavyhearted
Blue is every little boy’s
Bereaved
Favorite color.
Upset
But associated with blue
Tearful
Is sad.
And then I was quite
Bitter
Cheerless because
Cheerless
I realized that not everyone
Dejected
Is always as elated as I.
Despairing
And that made my heart sink
Despondent
And I new I would write
Dismal
A tribute
Depressed
For the poor, unfortunate,
Forlorn
And depressed
Lugubrious
And I knew I would try
(which happens to be my new
With all my human being
favorite cinnamon)
To make them contented
Melancholy
Again.
I was in Chicago,
Up against a sign that hung low
The “Windy City”
To the ground.
With my family.
I haven’t forgotten his face
I saw a man
The way he looked up at me
Covered in a ratty blanket
Like I was an angel
With a kind face
Sent from Heaven.
And goodhearted eyes.
I wasn’t.
He was missing his front teeth,
I saw chap-stick
Cowering behind a silicone cup
And a meager dollar bill in that
Asking cruel passerby
Silicone cup.
To spare the change
I donated my five dollars
They certainly could.
With a smile.
His eyes were despairing
God bless you,
But his mouth was smiling
He told me.
I ducked into a shop
And I just smiled
Filled with green
Feeling very pleasant.
And pulled out my
And now all I want to say to him
Irish leather wallet.
Is GOD BLESS YOU
I wondered if I really did need
In a loud, proud voice
My Irish leather wallet
For all of the Windy City
Filled with cash
To hear.
That that man didn’t have. So I pulled out a five dollar bill And hurried back to wear he sat
The taxi drivers
To be a physician.
That towed us around
His smiling face is stored
The Windy City
In a special locked bank
Were all somber
With all the gleeful
Quiet, and downcast.
Faces that I have ever seen.
Until a white taxi
It is right next to the
Pulled up to the W hotel.
Grateful face of the
The car door opened for
Silicone Cup Man.
My mother,
It is in special lockdown
And a merry face
Where it can never escape
Smiled back at her.
My mind.
He was talkative, Jolly, and mirthful. He said he was from Benin, He was twenty-five, And he was going to school To be a physician. His accent was heavy And delicious to listen to. It was like honey. He treated us kindly, And Mom tipped him well. We all wanted very much For our taxi driver
Nothing that enters the vault,
The door with her stroller.
My vault,
The biggest cell
Ever leaves.
Is for the biggest smile:
The locks can’t be picked.
It’s the face of my old,
The walls and doors are airtight.
Crotchety grandmother
It’s like a prison
Whenever I come to visit
Filled with innocent,
Their two-story
Joyful people.
Sunny yellow house.
That’s why they’re there.
The smallest cell
The Silicone Cup Man
Is for the rarest,
Has his own cell.
But most beautiful smile,
It has a large bed,
A smile rare because I don’t
And a huge couch
Often see its bearer:
And a 52” screen.
My father’s sister.
And endless food.
Her smile is wonderful,
The Taxi Man has
Taking up her whole face,
A cell painted cheerful
So it needs a special lock
Yellow, with
Since it only appears so often,
His African family there
And the key
To smile and laugh
Is always strung on a
And talk with him.
Silk ribbon
There’s also a spot
In my pocket
For the grateful woman
Saved for later.
Whom I helped get through
There are six kids
The fourteen-year-old
Considered “cousins”
Graduated to the adult table,
In my family.
And now he sits next to the
There are only four places
Queen.
At the round wood table
We all share a grandma,
In the yellow kitchen,
Who we might find sarcastic,
Whose walls are
And very funny,
Embellished in embroidery.
Who claimed a throne
I am one of the four
At the head of the table.
Who have gained and kept
She has decided who is worthy
A place at the sacred table.
To still reside at
Of course, after years,
The little-kid table.
It loses its importance,
She passes the macaroni
And the adult table
She made,
Becomes all the rage.
And the Chesapeake crab cakes,
Why are we,
And we gobble it down.
Recently becoming
Delicious.
Legitimate teens,
But I don’t eat the carrot Jello
Made to sit with the two
She made.
Nine-year-old devils.
I butter my roll,
We must get up to get
Toss green beans on a plate,
Our macaroni,
And plop down in my chair,
And we are supervised
At the little-kid table.
As we sneak rolls.
I realized
We are so lucky to have.
That it would take
A thousand Einsteins have lived
A person who would put
And won’t even be recognized.
Albert Einstein to shame
All of this technology we have
To think up something
Nowadays is so awe-inspiring.
So complex as language.
Laptops, televisions,
The English language
Cars and buses and airplanes.
Is one of the hardest to learn.
It is all so mind-boggling.
And I noticed that I was lucky
In a few centuries we have evolved
That English was my
From helpless human beings
Native tongue.
Their world entirely covered
As I sit in Spanish class
By forests housing kings
Reciting the many regular verbs
To destructive, genius humans
Understanding,
Who rule with an iron fist.
Feeling a crazy sensation of
Where will we be
Achievement.
In just a century?
It would take a real Smarty-pants to invent This communication system
The Human Footprint
Instead there will just be
Has made its mark
A quiet blackness
In the ever-changing sands
That we will never be a part of.
Of time.
Or maybe a new species
We began as apes,
Will start following our
With little to no communication. Footsteps Over thousands of years
Through the years
We evolved.
Until they reach
Our footprint appeared.
The crest of that hill.
They will, at some point, Disappear as the salty wind
Whips the powder into shape A clean slate, A smooth tan dune. Over the crest of that dune Awaits our fate: Death and destruction Total oblivion. There will come a point Where our footprints Come over the hill And we will die. No one will be left to remember The Einsteins of our time.
Every morning
The Mad Hatter chuckling,
I wake up
The Red Queen shouting,
And just make sure
And the little Teacup Mouse
I haven’t died in my sleep
Singing her eerie song.
I try to remember the
That was one
Crazy, colorful dream
Of my favorite movies
That engulfed me for hours.
As a child.
I remember details
I liked to imagine myself
And how it all made sense
As Alice, the wonderful heroine,
While I was still asleep
And wished I could just
But when my eyes open
Be transported
All the places
Right over to Wonderland
Colors, thoughts, and faces
To play with the Cheshire Cat
Are a blur.
Until I woke.
I don’t know what
But I wouldn’t wake.
I was doing,
It would all be real,
What I was saying,
Just as real as the honey sunlight
And who those people were.
That cascades through the clouds
I feel as if I was in
Every morning when I wake.
Alice in Wonderland,
By the way,
Can come out and know it.
Whoever came up with this
The human race will end
Idea of the perfect heaven
Over that sand dune
Where there is no sorrow
And where will we go?
Or hard work?
Certainly heaven isn’t big enough
A place after we die
To house every person who
Where we go
Ever lived. Or died.
With endless food
Where will we all go?
And shelter
It is easy to sink into
And love?
These stories of a flawless afterlife
Some people believe in it
And it’s hard to break away
So strongly
From the tradition.
So powerfully.
There is something awaiting us,
I don’t know
Be it the Pearly Gates
What is after life.
Or be it something
If there is anything.
No one was expecting.
I think there is
But no one knows for sure.
But it won’t be Pearly Gates Leading you up into A perfect, eternal afterlife. I think some people Deep down inside Don’t believe in it, But only half
At the end of the day
The Boston Marathon,
The sky bleeds crimson
Were blown up,
Like our hearts
Their lives ending in seconds.
As our beloved closes their eyes
When my life ends,
This long, long day is a set
I will pray that it will end
Of millions of wonderful days
In my hospital bed,
And terrible days.
With hands grasping mine.
But does it all end
But the truth is,
So peacefully, so pleasantly,
Reality hits us hard.
Like we close our eyes
At the end of the day,
And sink into a deep sleep?
It all ends in a blink.
No.
We fall asleep,
The victims of the bomb,
And we don’t wake up.
At the end of their long journey
Secrets whisper
Brain of yours.
Like the soft coo
And somehow they flee
Of a sea breeze
And escapee of the dark damp
Or the lap-lap of waves
Cellar protected by a thick skull
Or the swish-swish
With two eyes for windows
Of pointed toes
Two ears for speakers
Sweeping across gray marley.
A mouth to broadcast.
They speak quietly,
Secrets are liars, troublemakers
Almost too quietly to hear
Some are light, not a burden
In your ear with words
They creep into your thoughts
No one else can know.
Like crazy seeping darkness
These words are locked away
They steal away while you dream,
In your brain under lock
With a hideous cackle
And key
They depart unceremoniously.
No one else finds out
Tomorrow they are gone, their
About them. They are
Shackles left behind the gates.
secret, unknown,
It runs through, worthless
Forbidden.
To you now.
But they eventually slip
It is a wild bear, untamed,
From your lips in a breath
A feral cat, a soaring eagle.
Of air, a sigh of delight.
A secret will draw its talons
They are out, no longer
So quickly, so aggressively,
Cooped up in that cramped
And it will strike with a smile.
The book
The next chapter
That I call my life
I will only be able
Is long and bound
To look back at the previous
In leather and gold.
Chapter with nostalgia,
The letters are written
And visit my past
In a plain, clear font.
With the friends that I had
Each chapter is filled
For more than a decade.
With wonderful adventures.
I will cry.
I am still only in the first
But I will smile too,
Chapter.
Because the next chapter
I am reaching the last pages.
Can only be better than the last,
Soon a big bold “2�
Because whoever heard of
Will title a page
A book that got worse
Only half filled
As the pages turned?
With scribbles.
I will make new friends,
I have only lived
And find new schools,
In the one chapter.
Because at some point,
Thirteen years
One must sigh
I have resided in
And turn the last page
A small town,
And trudge off into
With a group of friends,
Their next chapter.
Going to the same school.